


𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑭𝑖𝑟𝑠𝑡

by sonshineandshowers



Category: Prodigal Son (TV 2019)
Genre: Father-Son Relationship, Gen, Mystery, Support, puzzle
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-01
Updated: 2020-06-01
Packaged: 2021-03-02 21:36:02
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,447
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24473647
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sonshineandshowers/pseuds/sonshineandshowers
Summary: A fine envelope arrives at Malcolm's loft. Can you solve its puzzling existence along with Malcolm?
Comments: 10
Kudos: 13
Collections: Prodigal Whump Fic Exchange - Spring 2020





	𝑡ℎ𝑒 𝑭𝑖𝑟𝑠𝑡

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Jameena](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Jameena/gifts).



> In addition to all her other awesomeness, Jameena is also pson triviamaster extraordinaire, having made two kahoot games of ultimate pson trivia for us. So this captures her affinity for a tough trivia question.
> 
> A quick translation to help as you read and try to solve. Writing = fanfic. Case = episode. Hover over/tap the spoiler bar [ ] if you'd like to check your answer along the way. If you're a hardcore puzzler and don't want to be spoiled along the way, a full list of all answers is at the end.

Heavyweight parchment. The kind fine invitations are made of, woven like linen for an elegant cream suit he’d wear in the summer. It sits prominently in his hand, the scale tipping toward an air of importance.

Malcolm’s fingers run rough over the texture. No greeting. No markings that would indicate the intended recipient. But there’s no question who it’s for, slipped under the locked exterior door.

Another ritzy dinner with his mother? Charity banquet? Auction?

He slides his finger under the gummed seam and opens to a magnificent crimson backing the inside flap. Same shade as his weapon’s case. Approving their taste, he slides up the single notecard inside, cream as the outside. No folds. No detailing. Just...

The first what?

Turning the paper end over end in his hands, he doesn’t find anything more. Cream and red and cream and a little black text reminding him _The First_.

The first case he ever worked on?

Heading back inside, he bounds up the stairs to his laptop, eager to solve the puzzle. The _best_ kind of invitation. No dinner with his mother. No conversations full of society smiles. No wishing he could get drunk without serious health consequences.

Just a puzzle. He keys in the first few ideas of writings he considers.

The first. <https://archiveofourown.org/works/5971714> [ **Friend of a Friend** ].

Like Nico?

They'd been lucky to get out unscathed. Or moderately scathed in Nico's case. How much time was on the original bomb clock when he’d met him? [ **1:30 - One minute, thirty seconds** ]

What was it, what was it, what was it? He pecks away, searching again. [ **(Best) Friends -<https://archiveofourown.org/works/21177083>**]

Would anyone qualify besides Gil? Dani? JT?

JT had asked for a tool that day. Was it the same or different than what he’d used to break himself out of his mother’s basement? [ **Different** ]

Similar sound as a TV show Gil and Jackie used to watch. How did the theme song go? What might…[ **Be right for you, may not be right for some** ].

He couldn’t recommend his lifestyle to anyone. His existence is sustained by…[ **Sparkling water and licorice** ].

According to his mother at least. What dye does that candy use? [ **Red 40** ]

Like the inside of the envelope? Brighter? Older or younger than JT? Older or younger? Older or younger?

He has no idea. Above his pay grade. They don’t tell him these sorts of things.

Maybe he’s onto the wrong thing. Wouldn't be the first time. Gil gives him a hard time for his harebrained schemes...often. Tells him it's why he can't sleep at night, yet he suspects other reasons too. Like loneliness. Lack of companionship.

Time keeps moving forward, yet Gil's still stuck in a past that’s more comfortable than finding a new present. Shaking his head to clear it, Malcolm tries not to get lost there himself.

The first. The first. The first clue led him to a timer. Time again?

It was a pretty rough day — he had been distraught at the time, nearly crying in front of his new teammates. Ready to die. What had he said right after? [ **Now’s your chance to kill me.** ]

Had anyone else ever threatened him like that? Who was it? [ **Dr. Whitly** ] He’ll never be able to get that man out of his life. Where had he been at the time he learned it? [ **Basement** ] Who else did he tell? [ **Simon Coppenrath** ] What time during the case did it happen? [ **31:21 - Thirty-one minutes, twenty-one seconds** ]

One number is in common with his mother’s house, looking back at him on the door as he enters through the gate. Maybe that’s where the clues are leading? A surprise for his mother? Has her team resorted to puzzles as the only way to get him to attend?

His stomach complains in a loud grumble — he doesn't really want to go back. Seemingly every time someone sets foot in her living room, an injury is involved, either physical or psychological.

After she'd greeted, "Malcolm," like she belonged in his loft, what was the first thing she said to him when he got back to New York? [ **Ainsley told me you were fired.** ] Isn’t exactly the healthiest of environments, but he subjects himself to worse on a regular basis, much to her chagrin.

His sister occupies his mind a moment, imagining her sitting next to him instead of a cell. They'd both be doing their own research, seeing who could solve the puzzle faster. Him, of course. No contest.

Considering what writings she'd look at, he again thinks of their mother's house. He starts at the beginning of time and stops at her address. [ **Glad We Had This Talk -<https://archiveofourown.org/works/20876216>**]

He'd said something similar before at the precinct on another case... [ **Two** ] It'd been a pretty good morning waking up to...[ **I Feel Good** ]

Which was also the first time he said one of his common feelings following injury after a run-in with something that first met this character. [ **Edrisa** ]

What is she up to? She likes puzzles. But he's trying to keep space between work and his personal life, so he leaves her alone working in...[ **Autopsy** ]

Would someone else work on the puzzle with him? _When he was a kid, he knew his father would’ve done anything for him. But that didn’t mean he was always…_ [ **Right** ]. Going to see him right now carries a risk somewhere between being triggered and death, and most days, being triggered seems to be the worse prospect.

Should he really go see his mother? Should he get a car? He could call…[ **Adolpho** ]

But if he arrives at his mother's for no reason, she'll question his mental health. He has enough questions himself without needing to answer anyone else's.

Maybe he can solve this one solo.

He lays all his facts down across the desk, making a mess of post-its in comparison to the elegant envelope. Looks for patterns, combinations, anything that will make any sense. Thinks back to the notecard. _The First_.

A sea of letters look up at him. 

[ **F O B D B S R N D B S T A G T I E A R A** ]

Scanning through, he picks out the first words he makes out from the scramble.

[ **B-B-B O R N S T A G E D-D T I A R A S ? F —** ]

Probably not.

He rearranges them round and round until they make any sense.

[ **S T A B F I R S T B O R N D E A D, B A G.** ]

Did he solve a plot on his own life before it even happened?

He mutters to himself and picks up his phone. "Gil, we have a problem."

"What's that?" Gil’s voice is calm, as if he’s gotten some variation of this phone call at least a dozen times before.

"Someone wants me dead." Malcolm plays with the envelope’s flap in his fingers, picking at the blood lining.

"Who doesn't?"

The glue comes apart, and Malcolm’s finger slides underneath, peeling back to familiar scratched writing. _Thought you might be bored, my boy. Love — Dad._ “It’s a false alarm,” Malcolm shares into the phone, quickly gathering all of his post-its, the envelope, and notecard, tossing them into the garbage. “I’m sorry.”

“Again?”

“It’s nothing,” he says, shaking his head like there isn’t a phone between them.

“I can bring a puzzle,” Gil reaches out to him like he does whenever he’s vague about the problem. “Have a 1000 piece one waiting over here for you.”

Shivering at the thought that would typically be welcome, he offers an alternative. “How about just your company?”

“Sure, kid. I’ll be over soon.”

Scampering back down the stairs, he waits for Gil on the entryway steps, the first person he always thinks of when he needs comfort, reassurance.

* * *

fin

* * *

#### Complete listing of all answers (in order):

[ **Friend of a Friend  
1:30 - One minute, thirty seconds  
(Best) Friends - <https://archiveofourown.org/works/21177083>  
Different  
Be right for you, may not be right for some  
Sparkling water and licorice  
Red 40  
Now’s your chance to kill me.  
Dr. Whitly  
Basement  
Simon Coppenrath  
31:21 - Thirty-one minutes, twenty-one seconds  
Ainsley told me you were fired.  
Glad We Had This Talk - <https://archiveofourown.org/works/20876216>  
Two  
I Feel Good  
Edrisa  
Autopsy  
Right  
Adolpho  
  
First letters of each: F O B D B S R N D B S T A G T I E A R A  
Which unscrambles to: S T A B F I R S T B O R N D E A D, B A G.**]


End file.
